


A Wench's Kiss

by cytara



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A dash of plot maybe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bondage, Brienne consents and enjoys every dang minute, Dom!Jaime, Dom/sub, F/M, Fic Exchange, Sharp Objects, Smut, Sub!Brienne, They live happily ever after on Tarth and this is quite the bang that was promised, light exhibitionism, light kidnapping roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytara/pseuds/cytara
Summary: Jaime and Brienne share a kinky tradition when Jaime returns home to Tarth.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 51
Kudos: 190
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	A Wench's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lashieldmaiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lashieldmaiden/gifts).



> Here is my fic for the fic exchange prompt: “Dom!Jaime and sub!Brienne. Period. Full stop.”
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader, who almost convinced me to title this fic, "The Long and Hard Knight."
> 
> I haven’t seen many canon Dom/sub without FemDom, so here we go! This is my first official Dom/sub fic and I’ve done a bit of research. Since this is in canon verse, names like “scene”, “aftercare”, “safe word” and “roleplay” are described with different terms.

The skies of Tarth were empty, unusual for such a stormy summer. Scents of roasted ham drifted in humid air through the halls of Evenfall, and all three children huddled beside the open doors, waiting for their father to ascend the steps. Brienne, in her finest blue dress, peered with them. On the edges of cliffs, the trees were a wonder while the sea gently crashed against the crags. Down hundreds of steps, a group of men turned the corner. Her blood sang. Jaime climbed the steps, the flash of his smile barely visible.

Their oldest daughter, no older than six and already half Brienne’s size, rushed down the steps. They named her Laena after an ancestor of Brienne’s maternal line. Duncan, with his blunted sword, followed his sister and Joanna, a bustling toddler, ran to the oncoming men with her siblings. Brienne gripped her wrist between her thumb and fingers while Jaime stopped and bent lower with open arms; he only had one hand to greet them. Their children collided into him, and he tried his best to embrace the three of them, all while his men waited patiently at his side.

Brienne stood at the door, her smile widening with the sudden relief at his homecoming. They had separated dozens of times, none longer than when he gave her Oathkeeper. After the dead no longer walked, queens perished and dragons disappeared, their marriage bound them together, but duty called them apart as needed. Jaime had visited Tyrion in King’s Landing for three moons, a regular annual visit. Both Brienne and Jaime grew rather fond of their reunions on Tarth.

Joanna tucked in his arm, Jaime ascended the steps while thick in conversation with Laena and Duncan about his travels. Each of them, even little Joanna, held their own Kingsguard doll made of wood and cloth. Brienne swallowed and tried to hide her teeth digging into her bottom lip. Their older children, in shouts and giggles, flew past her while Jaime stepped closer. Sweat beaded at his hairline, full yet trimmed short. His smile made her weak as grass, but with his men, their servants and Joanna’s eyes watching, she restrained herself from crashing into him. Instead, Jaime and Brienne leaned into a proper kiss. His lips, soft and chilled from the sea breeze, lingered on hers for a moment. Brienne’s cheeks heated as he pulled back, twisting his smile. Joanna leaned over and he set her down.

“I’m famished,” Jaime said. His hand curled into a quick fist.

Their eyes locked in the wordless understanding of what they both truly wanted: to be alone. 

Duties, as Lord and Lady of Evenfall and Tarth, pulled them apart again. The maester announced the preparation of early supper, and Brienne feigned a smile as they walked inside. 

In the dining hall, full of sunlight and smiles, Jaime, Brienne and their children supped on roasted ham, salt pork and potatoes.

“Eat your supper,” Jaime said to Laena, sitting next to him. Similar to Joanna’s plate, servants cut his ham steak and potatoes into bite sized pieces before serving it. 

“Tell us about Uncle Tyrion,” Laena said. 

With a morsel of roasted potato stabbed on the edge of his fork, Jaime paused, glimpsed at Brienne and Laena. “Well, he’s twice as tall as you.”

“Like mother?”

“Taller than your mother.”

Brienne sent Jaime a quick glare, and he smirked. She raised her chin towards Laena and said, “No, he’s about your height.” 

Laena remained quiet. After chewing, Jaime swallowed and lifted his goblet. Duncan eyed the baked apples stuffed in pastry, fragrant with cinnamon and frosted in sugar and with Brienne’s nod of approval, the two children reached for their dessert. She smiled as they hummed in delight, and with a glance towards Jaime, Brienne wondered when they would be alone. Her fingers, loosely wrapped around the stem of her goblet, tingled at the thought of their first evening together in nearly three moons.

“More cider?” Jaime asked Brienne, now holding a pitcher.

Brienne froze. Her answer, whichever she chose, would tell him if she wanted to play their game, a favorite tradition for them both. Nothing could embarrass her more than if anyone discovered their secret. She felt as if she stood on one side of a plank and he stood on the other end, their weights bending the wood until its ultimate break.

“Wine,” she said, voice soft.

Jaime’s lips pressed together, edges barely curving up as he set the cider down. Wine meant she wanted to play. She knew the rules, and so did he. There was a time limit of sorts. As soon as he found her alone their game would begin.

When he poured the crimson wine into her goblet, Brienne’s stomach tightened into knots, too full to finish her meal. Their games were her idea, years ago. She reached for her goblet, tipping the dessert wine between her lips. Sweetness coated her tongue with hints of cherries and oak. Brienne gave a subtle smile. 

Jaime’s fingers rolled and twisted on the handle of a knife before he stabbed a chunk of salt pork. The meat soaked onto his tongue and when he closed his lips, Brienne watched his thumb faintly rub the knife. During their games, it took time to grow comfortable in their roles, even if it lasted no longer than an hour. In truth, nothing excited her more.

“Shall we have a bath drawn for you?” Jaime asked.

She played meek, but he listened to her every word. Brienne returned her goblet to the table. “Yes.”

The sun gave the children enough light to play outside with their septas. She held her breath as she stood, and the lightheaded feeling gave her a rush. Jaime’s footsteps, a sound she missed, walked across the hall to join their children while their game began. Brienne gazed around her, smiling at guards and servants who, hopefully, knew nothing of their ritual. Her heart galloped like a horse with every step closer to her bedchambers, and yet, she knew she would find them empty.

Her fingers hesitated on the metal door handle, cold despite the warm air. Almost everyone busied themselves with daily tasks, but the thought of anyone hearing or seeing them made her dizzy. Brienne entered their bedchambers, open and welcoming. Dark red fabric draped over the bed, large enough to fit them both. Tapestry hung against the walls and stories of old knights stacked into a pile near one of the three windows, which looked out into one of Evenfall’s courtyards.

She walked to the adjacent room, and centered in the smaller room was her steaming bath, ready for her to climb inside. Heat crept into her cheeks as she reached behind herself to undo the lacing on her dress. 

At any moment, she surmised, Jaime would enter. He would help her undress or demand her to keep her clothes on. She could never predict his behavior and she would love every minute of it.

When her blue dress pooled at the floor, he still had not yet entered the bedchamber. Brienne’s throat tightened along with the hard muscles in her thighs and belly. Smallclothes, light and drenched her own arousal, fell to the floor as she stripped herself naked. Warm water stung her feet once she stepped into the bath. Only drops and ripples of water filled her ears, much like the bath Jaime and Brienne shared at Harrenhal. Bathwater crept to the base of her neck as she contorted her body underwater. The steam, not as thick as Harrenhal, wafted before her eyes as she reflected on their almost tragic love. He protected her, saved her. He had every reason to cast her aside, and his words, which she grew to admire, suggested he hated her during their early travels. But his actions, his choices, one after another, spoke a different language altogether… and she listened. Despite his insufferable character, she had never seen such kindness, and his support of her made his kindness sweeter. He never tried to change her, like most other men and women. He loved her for who she was and the tragedies they endured together brought them closer.

In a way, she missed their dangerous adventures, their unpredictable world of uneasiness. Games, such as this, thrust her into the arms of one of the most distrusted men of Westeros, the man she trusted the most. At first, the control bothered Jaime until he discovered just what Brienne desired. He grew fond of his role in time, whenever they played, and he found it more serving of her than him. He was always excellent at giving gifts.

Movement startled her, and before she lurched forward, a dagger blade pressed against her throat. 

Brienne trembled. Jaime never used a blade before. Her eyes, once focused on a dripping candle across the room, looked down to see Jaime’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. His breath, hot on her neck, gave her chills.

“Wench,” he said, voice low and demanding. “Out of the bath.”

Her throat quivered against the blade while she considered fighting him, her first instinct.

“Wench,” he warned.

She closed her eyes, willing to trust him with anything, and she reached for the edge of the bath. The dagger, clasped in his singular hand, followed her movements as she stood. Water dripped off her fingertips and slid down the length of her thighs.

“Step to your left,” he said, leaving no room for compromise. She followed his order while water soaked into the rug underneath her bare feet. She knew he enjoyed her defiance, as he admitted this before, and she raised her hand— 

“One wrong move, and you know what I’ll do to you.”

Brienne stopped, her hand stilled in mid-air. His dagger, kissing her throat, felt as if the blade had sharpened.

“Do exactly as I say, you hear me, wench?”

She would have nodded, but the blade threatened to prick her skin. “Yes,” she whispered. Her heart, now a world away with frantic excitement, pounded inside her glistening chest.

“Good.” His voice made her eyes flutter closed. “Over there, grab the ropes from the drawer and tie your wrists together.”

Brienne edged towards the wooden drawer. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. The dagger remained at her throat while she pulled out the drawer, wood creaking, and she slowly bent her body forward at her hips in order to tease him. He said nothing, although his fingers clenched the hilt tighter. From the drawer, she retrieved a pre-knotted rope, thicker than her thumbs. Frays of thread extended from use dragged over her skin as she slipped one hole over each wrist. A pull of the rope, like dozens of times before, tightened the restraint and bound her wrists together. She had the strength to break out of her binds, much like she had the power of a single word to tell him to stop, but she chose to remain silent. Part of the excitement for her was to consider ways to outmaneuver him. Even with her wrists tied, she could fight like one of the gods, but it meant more to them both to repress themselves up until the point they almost fell apart.

Wrists tied and at her belly, she waited. Jaime lifted the dagger and pressed the tip of the blade into her back. She bent away from the pinch in her skin.

“Towards the bed, wench.”

He held the point of the blade against her back while she walked forward, over her wrinkled dress and smallclothes. Every step felt more alive than the last. She wanted nothing more than for him to devour her, her own allure so strong he could not control himself.

She stepped out from the shadows when he said, “Stop.”

His direction was easy to comprehend, but the shock of stopping in front of an open window made her body tense. A brief glance outside revealed people hanging sheets to dry in the breeze. If anyone saw her…

“Turn around,” he said. He drew the dagger away from her skin as she followed his command.

The sight of him made her legs weaken as if she trained for weeks, all for this moment. His eyes smoldered for her, filled with want and desire. Between speckles of gold and white stubble, his lips tensed. He dragged the edge of the blade down her hip, sending her into a shiver. The tip of the blade pressed against her thigh, not unlike the day he pinned her against the oak trunk before their capture.

“Undress me.”

She fixed her eyes on his and lifted her hands, still tied, and her fingers worked on the lacing near his throat. He stretched his neck, revealing a line of pulse which beat as fast as her own. They both relished moments like this, and yet, neither of them smiled. His jerkin and shirt, both loose enough to slip off his left hand, fell to the floor. The dust of hair on his chest and a faint glisten of sweat made Brienne’s mouth water. She lowered to her knees. Dagger at her shoulder, he watched her untie his trousers. His cock, already hard, strained against the fabric as her fingers loosened the string.

About to pull his trousers down, she looked up at him.

“No touching, wench.” His face stiffened like he held his breath.

Brienne, her joined wrists now sweating, tugged his trousers down. His lip caught between his teeth as his cock met air. He pressed the dagger against her shoulder while his feet slipped out of the rest of his clothes and shoes. Kneeling, with her bound wrists in front of her chest and without moving, she had little choice in breathing his masculine scent. It was primal, the smell of his arousal, and it drove her to reach forward and wrap her linked thumbs around the rigid base of his cock. His skin underneath her thumbs burned hot. She broke his rule.

Jaime growled and jerked backwards, flattening the blade against her with more pressure. “Up, wench.” He was no longer a broken man in these moments; he became more powerful than a dragon, and yet treated her as gentle as a lover.

Her knees hiked to standing. The look in his eye darkened.

“Turn around.”

She did.

“Forward.”

She hesitated because he would place her in front of the window. Lips wet, they begged to open and protest for her. He stepped forward, his stump at the small of her back and his cock pressed into the top of her thigh. With no choice, she stumbled forward, her arms desperate to cover her breasts. Her face stopped before the window and she peered below. She stood at one of the highest windows in Evenfall Hall and a dozen people bustled about in the nearest courtyard, shaking out rugs and polishing metal. What would people say if they saw her like this?

“Put your hands on your belly.”

Brienne tangled her fingers together as she considered his request, his demand. He meant to push her to her limits, and the fear of being seen gave her a limited, yet panicked rush. Slowly, she lowered her hands to her belly.

“Remain still, wench,” he said, and he withdrew the knife from her shoulder. The sound of it falling to the floor rang in her ears.

She wanted to turn but his hand curved around her, his body cradling hers from behind. A moan escaped her, and through the loops of the binds on her wrists, he wrapped a long rope around her. From behind, he tied a knot at her back. Her elbows rested against the rope, its threats digging into her waist like a belt. She tugged her wrists up, but it was no use, they were now bound above her navel. 

“You want everyone to see me fucking you, wench?”

Her spine chilled, and her eyes closed. The once terrifying thought drove her mad with desire. His hand dragged gentle fingertips across her hip, wide enough to birth their children, he once said. Her eyes opened when he bit her shoulder, and she replied with a whimper. His stump insistent, he pressed her forward until the sun covered most of her skin. 

No one would believe her if she described their married life, full of passion and love. If anyone glimpsed at the window to see her moaning in pleasure, bound in ropes while Jaime fucked her, perhaps they would believe her then. She gave a small nod.

“Spread your thighs.”

Brienne held her breath and followed his command. The edge of her teeth sank into her lip while he dragged the head of his cock over the sensitive skin at the inside of her thighs. His hand reached underneath her, his fingers teasing her cunt. He sighed.

“Wench, you’re _soaking._ ”

She hissed the moment his fingers clasped the top of her cunt, and he eagerly rubbed his thumb into swirls and gentle pulls. Caving forward, she leaned her damp forehead against the window, glass hot, and she moaned. Urges to fight him came fleetingly, and he insisted he enjoyed a challenge, but those urges disappeared as the tension swelled at the bottom of her belly. If anything, she felt the desire to call out his name. During games he preferred a different name altogether.

“Kingslayer,” she said, warning him, unable to hide the strain in her voice.

He yanked his hand away from her cunt and pulled on the rope belt around her waist, forcing her away from the window. She gasped as he flung her to the bed.

“Quiet, wench.” 

Her back faced the bed while she remained unable to use her hands to defend herself. She could have dashed to the left, but he lifted her legs with his arms as if she weighed nothing, and with her own stifled yelp, she fell backwards onto the bed while he said, “If you’re loud while I fuck you, someone will hear.”

The will to fight returned as he prowled forward, crawling between her thighs. She could have overpowered him, killed him if need be, but her hands strained in her restraints and she moaned at the thought of him wanting her, needing her. He played their game exactly how she liked it, and by the look of his tongue darting across his lip, he enjoyed her as well. Brienne squeezed her thighs together and squirmed. He tried to bend her knees with his hand and stump, the muscles of his arm thick and tightened, but her legs refused to move. Jaime abandoned his plan and kissed her thighs instead. His lips and stubble burned into her skin, trailing higher as she realized her fight abandoned her. Without armor, without anything but herself, she let him inch closer. Blunted nails from his fingers dug into the tense muscle of her thigh, and at once, she exhausted herself weak while her legs relaxed.

Jaime pinned her thighs down and open, his face breathing over her cunt while he stared at it. “You’ve wanted me to fuck you for as long as you remember.”

“Kingslayer—”

She swallowed her resistance the moment he kissed her cunt. While his hand tugged her nipple to a stiff peak, she arched and smothered moans in her throat. He lapped, tugged and sucked with his mouth, and his hungry insistence forced her closer to release. His teeth dragged against her. The sight of his face buried in her curls sent her a sudden rush of pleasure. Her hands wanted to grab his hair between her fingers, but the ropes tightened as she jerked. His hand seized an entire breast and squeezed, leaving her wincing. Underneath his hand, her chest heaved for air. No doubt, his palm felt the pounding of her heart, and her thighs tightened against his cheeks and shoulders while she came closer and closer—

He pulled back.

She growled while a coldness flooded her entire body, all while he smirked. 

“I thought you wanted this, wench.”

Without air, she panted and strained against her binds. Her hands curled into tight fists. The aching of her cunt, so close, made her think of nothing else.

“Come on,” he teased, breath hot with her scent. “I thought you had more fight in you.”

Brienne turned her legs to steel and constricted him, tightening against the sides of his chest. The dominance in his eyes faltered for a moment, and it encouraged her to fight harder. She twirled him over, but without her hands, she found no use but to sit on his belly. Even with one hand, he matched her strength on occasion, and his age seemed to forget him as she gazed at the flexing muscles of his shoulders, chest and belly. Jaw clenched, he lurched forward and used his might to push her backwards. As she fell, he flipped her onto her stomach, her hands pressed into the bed under her belly. He dodged her kicks, agile as he always was, and pinned her deeper into the mattress while he straddled the top of her thighs.

Their struggle gave her new life, but his weight gave her little room. She turned her head to the side, the crimson red of the bed blurring her vision. He grabbed the rope and yanked her head closer to the edge of the bed. Her heart lurched. Remaining still, filled with shallow breaths, she whimpered as his hand trailed over her back, squeezing skin.

He leaned forward, pinning every bit of his weight on her body. His cock nestled between her thighs, hot and ready to fuck her. The edge of his lips brushed against the back of her ear. She expected him to tease her, taunt her, but he whispered, “I would never, ever hurt you.”

Speechless, she closed her eyes, chest quivering. If he meant to make her melt from his words, she melted to the floor. His hand wrapped over her waist and rope while his cock slipped between her wet, pressed thighs. Both of them sighed as he slowly filled her. Pinned hands clenching the fabric underneath her belly, her grip loosened the moment he thrust harder. His urgency, pleasurable and blinding, pushed her further off the bed. She once told him how the sense of falling gave her an unbeatable thrill, and he meant to exploit every fear of hers for her own pleasure. He growled, his cock sinking into her. The ache surrounding her cunt reveled in his passion, and moans thundered from her throat.

His fingers trailed down her spine, giving her no choice but to tighten and strain underneath him. He fucked her, his skin slapping hers, and his breath, once labored, paused while he strangled his own moan. By the insistence of his thrusts and the tension from his voice, he was close, as close as her.

“Bri—”

She moaned louder.

“Wench,” he warned mid-thrust and fucked her harder. His hand held onto the rope like they were reins.

Each drowning thrust inched her further off the bed, now her head, shoulders and top of her belly hanging in mid-air by the mere strength of her back. If she fell, her head would hit the floor first. He reserved no fear, and as the weight of her upper body slanted towards the floor, he grabbed the hair at the back of her head and held her upright. Nearly able to remember how to breathe, she dizzied and let his fingers pull her into a natural arc. Her nails dug into the skin of her own fingers, desperate for release. 

While his stump pinned the base of her back, his thrusts became erratic. “Wench, I’m going to come.”

Those words, a beg of sorts, pushed her over, and she came on command. Her cunt clenched as his cock buried deep inside her. Faint pulses of his cock pouring his seed made her moan far louder than she intended, and the quick release of her hair startled her. His hand, warm and mixed of their scents, covered her mouth as she drowned, half falling and half soaring. The strength of his arm held her upright, and by the grace of the gods, she turned her moans into whimpered breaths of shallow air.

She lived in her flooded rush of pleasure, the sound of his still hard cock sliding out of her wet and spent cunt. He scooped both arms underneath her in order to cradle her before she fell, and he lifted her onto her back, head centered on a down filled pillow. Eyes fluttered open and closed, and the image of him untying her ropes came to her in a blur. The redness on her wrists almost matched the bed, but her skin and spirit remained unbroken.

“How are you?” Jaime asked. His hand draped a nearby quilt over her chilled skin. The warmth surrounded her, reminding her that with him, she was protected. His hand reached under the quilt, gliding over her chest before he rubbed her shoulders. While he waited for her response, he entangled his legs with hers and cuddled her from the side, dancing kisses over the bear scars on her skin. She remained in her blissful daydream, slowly catching her breath.

“How do you feel?” he asked again, barely above a whisper.

She reached for his face, the newfound freedom of her hands able to cup his cheeks while she leaned closer to kiss him. He grunted, half frozen from the sudden passion she poured into him. They lay there, tangled in a mess of misted skin and lips, kissing until the last bit of strength left her. She pulled back with an exhausted smile. Jaime returned her expression with a smirk and pulled her closer, cuddling her into his chest until she felt small.

“I missed you,” he said. The vibrations of his voice tingled the side of her ear.

“I missed you, too.” Her voice, a bit raspy, sounded so feminine compared to his own.

Brienne leaned back to look at him again, lost in his eyes, as vivid as they always were. Love and time aged him gracefully, and she thought back to their adventures years ago, to the Harrenhal baths, where he first captivated her. As for when she stole his heart, he gave varying answers every time she asked. Her wit, strategy and strength charmed him.

Jaime let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. The sunlight crept over to the bed, basking them both in sunset light. A scar the size of a small kiss faded above his eye, and she remembered giving it to him during their first fight outside Maidenpool. She smiled. His scar was a wench’s gift, a wench’s kiss.


End file.
